


bastard child of water

by smallredboy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Body Dysphoria, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Drowning, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Gender Dysphoria, Getting Together, Homesickness, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), Minor Violence, Pining, Species Dysphoria, Species Transformation, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Transphobia, Witches, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: After a grave mistake, Crowley, a merman, is transformed into a human and exiled out of the sea. Issues crop up as he grows used to his new body, to his new friends and to his new job. But when a merman he's seen in passing pokes his head out of the water one afternoon, Crowley will fall for him and look for a way to regain his body.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Crowley & Pepper (Good Omens), Crowley & The Them (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	bastard child of water

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this fic earlier this year, somewhere around june i believe. i abandoned it for a while but my friend collette bribed me to finish it, so here we are.
> 
> enjoy!

Crowley gasps out, clinging onto the wet sand, begging for the pain to be over as it wracks through his body. The biggest change is from the waist down, of course - blood trickling down as it changes, as it all changes. Next the scales start to peel off, leaving terrible bruises he feels as he struggles against the water. It splashes, and his body keeps changing, more lines and waves and something borderline heavy on his chest. 

After a while, he’s there, half on the sand, half in the water. He splashes his legs and all it does is for more pain to shoot through them— he knows how bloody they are. But they’ll get better soon enough; the King of their city might’ve wanted to punish him permanently, to outright exile him from the sea, but he didn’t want him to die. He just wanted the torture to continue on earth. 

He lets his fingers dig into the warm sand, sunlight hitting his back, Having unwebbed fingers is wrong, but he deals, and there’s no gills along the sides of his neck, helping him breathe along with his lungs. There’s blood smeared around his knuckles. There’s blood tinting the warm white-yellow sand pink and red.

He stays there for far too long, struggling to breathe as he tries to get out of the water.

"There’s a man there— he’s bleeding!" a boyish voice exclaims, and he hears footsteps along the beach. He looks up and sees a head full of light brown hair, wide blue eyes, pale skin. A boy not older than thirteen, and there’s other people following him.

“You reckon he’s a castaway?” another boy asks, voice heavier.

"Of course not!" A girl cuts in, with dark curls and equally warm brown skin. “He must’ve had something happen to him. We should bring him to the hospital!”

“He’s naked—”

"It doesn’t matter!" The first boy exclaims. “He’s bleedin’!”

Crowley watches, pain still searing through him as he helps them move him through the sand and towards the hospital. There are dots all over his field of vision as a woman gives him a look and puts some boxers on him. The feeling of cloth against his skin is all even more odd, but he deals with it. He has to get used to it.

He ends up in a hospital bed, getting checked by a nurse. That’s what he thinks humans call them, anyway.

"Do you know your name?" she asks when he seems a bit more conscious.

He struggles with words. He swears he can go and pretend he’s still got his nice, long tail for just a bit longer. Then he feels the cloth and oh, he can’t. 

"Anthony J. Crowley," he says.

She squints, and he doesn’t quite know why she’s doubting his words.

"You are one of those transsexuals then, yes?"

He blinks, processing her words. He’s never heard that word before. "Wuh— what?"

"Don’t play dumb with me," she says with a scoff. “You haven’t even gotten any surgery yet.”

And then he remembers the whole gender nonsense humans got going on, and his heart sinks into his chest. He closes his eyes, knowing exactly what Idon decided to do with his new human body. It's not even that he thinks of himself as a man (the human definition of it, anyway), but it is what's the closest to his identity, and being in a typically feminine body feels bad, wrong. Idon knew this, too— the fucking bastard he is, he thought it'd just add to the punishment. 

"Ma'am," the nurse says gently. He pretends to not have heard him, and she sighs. " _ Sir _ ."

"Yes, I'm one of those transsexuals," he says begrudgingly. Now, if you'd let me go—"

"Why were you naked, bleeding on the shore?" she interrupts him, nose turned up. 

He grits his teeth. He can't even begin to explain the mess he got into, much less to a human. If Ligur hadn't argued with him until he snapped, and if Hastur hadn't framed him as completely guilty… 

"I don't know," he settles on. "I don't remember."

"What do you remember?" she presses. "Before ending up there?"

He grunts and closes his eyes tight, his head hurting horribly. "I was… swimming," he says after a few seconds. "Then it all just, went black." It's not exactly wrong. It's not right, either. He's omitting a lot. 

She hums. "I guess you are another unexplained phenomena of this town," she says. "We will get more scans and tests, just to make sure." She stands and goes to leave before turning back. "Oh, and will you tell me your  _ real _ name, so we know where to look for birth records and such?"

His face twists. "Anthony Crowley  _ is _ my real name. And you won't find any records." As long as you look on land, that is. 

The next few days pass exhaustingly slow. He spends them in his hospital bed in between tests, getting wheeled in and out of machinery he has no idea about. The sound of the brain scan one makes everything ache, though, so he keeps a tired eye on it. Everything is according to normal human expectations, not a single off thing apart from the bleeding from nearly a week ago. Idon seems to have been careful, perfect with just this one thing, after all. 

Crowley gets discharged with a handwave and confusion all over the doctors who looked over his charts. All the notes are unreadable, his very little knowledge of written English not helping at all with the huge words and medical babble that doesn't make sense to him. He's grown up on deep sea plants and algae as cures, with sand to a wound to help it heal. He doesn't know what all those pills are for.

He walks back to the beach as soon as he's free from the hospital, the doctors and the intermittent noise. There's seagulls cawing, and the swish of the waves, and nothing is too different. But he's lacking in gills and a tail, and even if he was allowed to, he wouldn't be able to push into the water and swim back to the metropolis he lived in. 

He was gifted the boxers and shirt they let him wear, too— he'd pull them off if he didn't know about the decency stuff with humans. He lets his feet sink a little into the dry sand, sighing out. He steps closer to the sea, and closer, the sand becoming quite wet.

He hates having legs. He wants to throw himself into the water, sink down and swim farther down, until he's by the city he's not allowed in anymore. Maybe that city in the Atlantic would allow him in, but probably not. Idon's most likely made sure to spread the word. Not like it matters, anyway— he can't get there in the first place. Because he is human, with a human body, with a human brain. And it all aches. 

He sits down by the shore, legs straight towards the waves. They're thin and long, and the sand getting on the scars makes it itch terribly. Without a second thought he reaches and gets a handful of water, pressing it against the sandy scar. He sighs out in the relief he gets, tipping his head back. It's like he's almost home. The almost will stay there, though, and it won't ever go away. 

He pulls away when the waves start going back into where he's seated. 

The longing will make him go mad if he gets even half of this new body into the lukewarm water he should be submerged into. He can't take the idea of that. 

"Sir!" A familiar voice calls out. He turns and sees the boy that got him out while he transformed. He smiles. 

"Hi, kid," he says easily. 

"You're out of the hospital! I never introduced myself, my dad tells me to be better about, uh, what're they called—"

"Manners?"

The boy smiles. "Yeah, that! I'm Adam Young!" He offers him a hand, sandy and dirty. 

He shakes it without much hesitation. "I'm Anthony Crowley, it's a pleasure."

Adam smiles and pulls away after a few seconds, and Crowley doesn’t bother to wipe his hand clean on his leg. 

"So," Adam says without losing much time, “why were you bleeding here on the shore? I had never seen anything like that before! And you— were naked! Why? How did you get there? I saw this movie, did you have a helicopter accident?” Crowley laughs a little and shakes his head. He wishes he knew what the hell the young human boy was talking about. “Uh, no,” he says. Oh well, if he tells his parents they’ll think he’s just messing with the kid. The weird homeless guy is messing with the kid, granted, but still. “You can’t tell people this, but I’m a mermaid.”

"You’re a guy," he says.

"A guy mermaid. Merman— it’s merfolk for the general species."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Crowley sits back down on the sand, drawing in a sigh of relief. “I can tell you all about what life was like down there.”

"Why are you human now, then?"

He grits his teeth and his face twists up. He tries to think of an appropriate explanation, and he also briefly wonders why the hell is Adam allowed to just roam around. It does look like a small town, granted, and there’s not much people around— but still, where are his parents?

"I got… uh, kicked out," he says.

"Why?" he insists.

He bites his lip and looks around, seagulls cawing as the sun starts to set. "Well… they thought I committed a crime." “What crime?” Adam asks, eyes wide, excitement all over him. “And did you actually do it? Mr. Crowley, please tell!”

So he hasn’t forgotten the manners he’s spoken about, he thinks with a small smile. "I…" He rubs his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting for it to happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen at all. It was— it was an accident.” He trails off. Beneath his eyelids there’s the blood pooling around Ligur’s head, and Hastur is screaming at him and he’s sobbing because he didn’t mean to, he didn’t mean to. It was just a punch, it was just— it was never meant to get to that point.

"And?" Adam presses.

"There were injuries," he settles on. It’s not the truth, but he doesn’t want to damage this kid. Besides, saying he was involved in… murder (manslaughter, he thinks humans call it) might not make the best impression on a twelve-year-old. “I already had a history of sketchy stuff so, they kicked me out when my acquaintance convinced them it was fully on purpose on my part.”

"That’s terrible," Adam says. “It’s like being wrongly convicted— in prison, I mean, I assume you’ve heard of those?” Crowley gives him a nod. “But there’s no chance of them realizing now, is there?”

He chuckles at the idea. "No. In this body, I can’t swim down to the city. And besides, merfolk rarely get their heads out of the water, so it’s not like I could notify anyone of the mistake."

Adam nods, thinking about the implications. "So it’s like getting the death sentence while knowing you’re innocent."

"I wasn’t innocent," he says, a bit worried by the boy mentioning death sentences.

He blinks. "Then why did you say they  _ thought _ you had done done a crime?"

"It wasn't on purpose," he says. "It being on accident should’ve reduced my punishment, but my friend convinced them it wasn’t on accident." Calling Hastur his friend makes the cold seep into his bones. It's getting late, the sun going down. "You should go home, kid."

He scoffs. "But you're more fun than home!"

He gives him a strained smile. "Thanks, kid. But you still should. We can talk more tomorrow."

Adam nods. "See you until then, Mr. Crowley."

He watches as Adam walks back home, and his father is waiting at the door, looking at him with a defeated glare. He turns and keeps looking at the sea. He should find somewhere to work at. 

He's not sure how human jobs function, but he'll find out. 

* * *

He ends up with a job by the seashore, his boss noticing his weird behavior and not caring about his lack of identifying documents. There's nothing about him in records other than the hospital, Anthony J. Crowley (with a note of  _ true name unknown _ next to it, but Crowley doesn't know that). And with no documents of his legal existence, he has ended up moonlighting at the local seafood market, dealing with keeping the food fresh and ready to be bought. It's an okay gig, he guesses, although he misses being able to lounge around and not do a thing back in his city down under. 

Mr. Shadwell, his boss, is one very strange man, that's for sure, so he's not surprised that he doesn't care about his lack of documents. He mumbles about fairies and witches and such, and Crowley is sure that if he told him he's a merman he'd believe it without a second's worth of hesitance. 

"Shadwell is quite weird, don't you reckon?" Newt, one of his coworkers, asks while they're deboning hake, making sure that there's no accidents while eating them for some of the customers less knowledgeable on fish. Shadwell has already went on in rants about customers not deboning the fish themselves, so they've taken up on the task. 

"Mhm," Crowley nods as he looks through the hake to make sure there's none left. When that one's done, the throws it into the bag and grabs another one, starting to take its bones out as well. "I've seen far weirder people, though."

Newt laughs a little and throws a hake into the bag before grabbing a new one from the deposit. They were caught by local fishermen, Crowley recalls. 

"I can't agree. He is, what, sixty? And he's obsessed with fairies and witches and all that fairytale book stuff. Like, they're _not_ _real_. He must know that."

Crowley bites his lip and gives him a curt nod. He strikethroughs Newt out of his list of people he can tell about his identity. It's pretty much only Shadwell and Adam right now.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly. "He must know that. I'm sure it's just a hobby he's really into. They are quite interesting mythos, anyway."

Newt nods and throws yet another hake in the bag. "I get that. But it's just… too much, ya know?"

He smiles forcibly, and Newt is too focused on the new fish to notice. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

As soon as he’s out of his job, cash deep in his pockets, he walks back to the beach. He’s still getting used to clothing, but he’s worn more normal stuff since his release of the hospital. Shorts that show off his long legs (he gets stares because of the healing scars, but he doesn’t mind) and shirts with a lot of pockets in them, always sleeveless. He likes to feel the ocean air next to his short arm hair, the way it warms him up but makes him shiver. It’s the same with his leg hair, although it is a lot thicker than his arm hair.

He takes his sandals off when he gets to the beach and walks towards the ocean, humming happily as he looks at the waves. They’re not moving violently— it’s rather calm right now. All the nice sea water smell. 

He still doesn’t want to get in the water, though. The idea makes him ache for something he can’t have anymore. The ocean isn’t his habitat now, it isn’t where he belongs to anymore. He wants to force this human body down the water, dive deep in, until he’s at the bottom of the ocean, like he wanted to get to the great depths when he was who he used to be. His skin itches, his legs itch, and he misses the scales all over his sides, the one on the nape of his neck. He’s not supposed to be here.

He steps closer to the seashore, the water closer and closer to his feet. He can’t do it— he can’t touch the seawater. The smell of salt and fish is ever stronger, and he can see the fishermen about a mile away from him. He sits down, hugging his knees a little as he watches the horizon. 

"Adam’s talked about you," a girl says, and he jumps and promptly gets his hand on the water, sinking into the sand. The feeling makes his blood rush through his body (this wrong body), his heart beat a hundred miles per hour. He immediately pulls his hand away from the ocean, it dripping wet.

He turns and looks at her. She’s got brown skin rich against the sunlight, natural hair and thick curls. "You were there when he found me, right?"

She nods. "Yeah, I’m Pepper."

"Pleasure to meet you. I’m sure he’s already talked in length about me?"

"Yeah!" she exclaims, jumping a little. “You’re incredible! I can’t— you’re really a mermaid? Merman?”

"Merman," he says. “I’m sure no one else but you kids would believe it.”

"Adults are stupid," she snarls with a security he hasn’t seen on any human before. “Like, you’re a mysterious guy we found bleeding naked at the seashore. Everything’s possible!”

He laughs and nods. "Yeah, I know, it’s terrible." “Well,” Pepper says, looking up at him and squinting a little. “It could be something like The Little Mermaid.”

He frowns, not understanding. He’s heard about that tale humans made up about them before in passing, but he’s never known the plot, what it entails, at all. He doesn’t think he’d like it, anyway.

"Well, you did get legs," Pepper says, giving a brief glance to his scarred legs before looking back up. “But you don’t got the Prince Charming.” Her smile lights up. “Or do you?”

"What…?" He blinks. “What do you mean?”

"Your love," she says, insistent, “your husband.”

He blushes. "Oh," he mutters. He’s never quite considered the idea, being a lowlife back when he was a merman, and now he’s not planning to get anything from any human that isn’t just friendship. He isn’t sure how his bits work, anyway. “I, um, don’t.”

She huffs. "That’s disappointing."

He shakes his head. "It’s not. I never planned to marry."

"My mom’s always said that everyone gets a soulmate," she says, swaying on place, like she’s got too much nervous energy to stay still for a few seconds. He understands that. “I hope you find yours soon.”

He smiles a little. "You too."

He watches Pepper as she walks off and starts arguing with one of the other kids— Brian, his name is, he’s pretty sure—, the words of mermaid and love being thrown around as she yells at him to shut up.

He smiles a little and turns back to the sea for a few seconds, watching the waves twist before he goes back to the place he’s been renting out. As much as Shadwell is letting him moonlight, he still pays a quite livable wage, especially when talking about a rundown room in this small beach town.

* * *

The next day, there’s someone in the water.

It has been two months ever since he has become human— he's been keeping track, getting used to the human calendars and times— and every day seems to be lonelier than the last. Newt's girlfriend, Anathema, seems to be in on him, but he wouldn't be able to say with certainty, and the Them (Adam's gang) has gotten more and more interested in what life is like underwater. 

He's not bothered by their questions, really. He enjoys having things to focus on other than work and the way his heart aches as he watches the waves go up to his toes. He doesn't want to think about the incident that changed his life and made him end up on land, but if he's not with Newt or the Them he's left alone with his thoughts. 

He's being left alone with his thoughts this time, on a Thursday afternoon, Shadwell doing some sort of reparations in his shop. So he didn't go to work, and the Them are at school, and Newt's at Anathema's place an hour away. 

He debates whether to do it for a few excruciating minutes, watching the waves come and go rhythmically. After a while, he realizes it won't matter anyway— he puts his hand into the water, sinks it in, the salt surrounding it and it's wet and the smell of home hits him full force—

He nearly screams when someone pushes out of the water, falling onto his back and against the warm sand. 

He's familiar, medium-dark brown skin that feeds off on the sunlight in a way he's never seen before. His bright hazel eyes, his full lips— He's got scales on his neck. 

Crowley stares at him wide-eyed, unable to form a word. Merfolk nearly never get out into the surface, unless they're perpetually curious to see what's on the shore, what humans are doing. It's not a very common condition, and back in the day it had a weird medical term, taken out of humans' Greek language, with the ending of -mania. What's he doing here? 

"Pardon," Crowley says, voice higher than usual, "Do I know you?"

He tilts his head and swims closer to him, splashing and playing with the wet sand. "I am Aziraphale," he says, his accent of water and salt thick. "I heard about your exile a few days back, and I've always been curious about what's on the surface… I hadn't, uh, expected to see you."

Aziraphale. 

Crowley remembers him, a bit stuck-up of a merman, had a shop of human articles that had sunk into their ocean. He hasn't seen him outside of second-long glances, and he hasn't quite realized how handsome he is until now. 

He draws in a breath. "I've heard of you," he settles on. He starts getting closer to him, looking at him with wide eyes. 

"Your legs…" Aziraphale starts. 

"Yeah, Idon didn't want the transformation to not be painful," he says bitterly. 

He pulls a face. "I'm sorry. How is… everything?" He pauses, as if he thinks that is too broad of a question. "What are humans like?"

Sadly, that one isn't any less broad. 

"They're, uh, interesting. They're like us but on land. And also a lot more work-oriented."

Aziraphale smiles at him and lets his elbow sink onto the wet sand to rest his chin on his palm. The sunlight hits the side of his face just right, his tight curls of hair seeming almost golden against the light. 

"Are you working a human job?"

He pauses. "Yeah, at a seafood shop."

Aziraphale looks scandalized, eyes wide. 

"I-I mean," he adds desperately, "it's not like they're sentient! Right, it's not that— that big of a, um, deal!"

He offers him a smile, eyes still a little wide, like he's doing it out of courtesy. He hates how he feels the intrinsic need to please him, and he doesn't know why. Maybe because he's the first merperson he's seen ever since he was exiled. It's been two months, but it feels like forever. 

"It's not that big of a deal," he agrees. "I'm just, uh, vegetarian."

"Only seaweed?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Well, it's not too bad," he continues. "We've just got like, get the pointy parts off certain fish out of them. For humans to eat and stuff. They can't exactly just swallow it up with no problem like us."

"That's interesting," he says. 

Crowley keeps talking to him and a few moments after he realizes something, when he's overcome with a blush when he laughs at one of his poorly-timed jokes. 

Aziraphale is his Prince Charming. 

* * *

His coffee has long since gone cold, but he still grips the cup tightly and makes small talk with Anathema and Newt. They’re nice, but he doesn’t get just how they got together, and he hasn’t dared ask. He’s never been a fan of relationships, only having a couple short-lived flings back underwater, and of course he can’t even consider dating a human. But Aziraphale came into his life and shook it from its very root, from its very beginning, and all he can think of is his full lips now.

Anathema is also transsexual as humans call it, just the other way around. He can’t help but think that if that’s not the name she was assigned when she was born, it is the one she chose, and it’s nothing short of a whimsical one. It can’t be that she’s as much of a skeptical being as Newt, as her boyfriend, right? She has to have at least some sort of streak for the weird, the supernatural— it would make his life a lot easier. Shadwell is the only magic and creature-obsessed human he’s met who isn’t a twelve-year-old, and he doesn’t look like he’s ever had a significant other.

So he has to ask Anathema if she believes in all those creatures that exist, that exist too small and quiet for the human eye to notice. For the stupid human eye to notice, anyway— a lot of them are perceptive enough to feel it in their souls, to write stories talking about all of them with an eye for detail that scared the most paranoid of creatures. 

"Anathema," he asks when Newt goes to the kitchen. There’s a pause; he knows he has to go for it. “You aren’t a skeptic right? You’re not like Newt.”

She raises a brow. "I’m a witch," she says. Crowley nearly drops his coffee cup, which he had finally raised to give it a sip. “Newt hasn’t found out yet, though,” she adds. “Why do you ask?”

"Uh, you’ve noticed the scars, right?" he asks. She nods a little. “I’m a merman. Used to be, at least.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. "You got exiled? What’d you do?"

The memory has been haunting him in dreams. Ligur’s blood, his desperate sobs as he begs Hastur for help. Hastur giving him the cold-shoulder, quiet rage at seeing his friend bleed out next to him. The silence that followed. The jury. His sobs for someone to believe him.

He shrugs and picks at the leftovers of the dinner they had served him. "I, uh… it’s a long story."

"And Newt is coming back soon," she says. “We can talk closer to your home tomorrow, if you’d like.”

He smiles at her and nods. Anathema is another trustworthy person, next to Adam’s gang and Aziraphale, who he has been talking to whenever he gets his head out of the water. With his shop, that’s not as often as he’d like it to be, but the connection is still there, sizzling and begging for it to be something more. He ignores it, as much as he remembers Pepper’s words, about how it’s destiny or something deeply cheesy like that.

He hasn’t ever been a fan of love before.

"I’d like that," he says quickly, smiling at her.

Newt steps back into the dining room with two plates in his hands, and Crowley grimaces at the prospect of him dropping one of them. Miraculously, he doesn’t, and he puts them on for Anathema and Crowley. He’s still not too sure why they’re dating— human love is all very confusing to him.

"I’m gonna get mine," he says before rushing back to the kitchen, coming up and placing his plate next to Anathema before starting to eat. He looks at her and then at Crowley. “So, Crowley, you’re the guy who was found naked and bleeding on the beach, right?”

He makes a face, and Anathema doesn’t like the question either.

"Yeah, that’d be me," he replies.

"Well, how’d you get there?"

He blinks and he attempts to come up with a satisfactory answer that doesn’t sound like a lie to human ears. He gives Anathema a pleading look, and she mumbles something before suddenly going, "The food’s amazing, babe!" Newt’s eyes widen and he blushes a little, stammering over his words. “Oh! Uh, thank you so much honey!” 

The topic shifts to Newt’s cooking abilities, and Crowley lets out a sigh and thanks Anathema under his breath. She notices and gives him a nod, smiling kindly at him.

* * *

"So," Anathema starts when they get to the shore, immediately sitting down. Crowley takes a bit but he does too. The sun is setting down into the horizon, the night settling in, the cawing of the seagulls getting quieter and quieter as the minutes went on. “What’s exactly your trouble, Crowley?”

Crowley watches the horizon with a sad smile on his face, the way the waves shift and turn, the way he wants to throw himself in the water. He looks down and sighs at the sight of his long, feminine legs, how he wishes they were their original form— an eel's tail, long and black and slick. 

He bites his lip. "Well," he starts, "A merman I only knew in passing when I was…" He frowns. "When I was home," he settles on. Anathema nods. "Well, he got his head out of the water. And we started talking. And I…"

Anathema gives him an understanding look, a small smile on her lips as she tucks her long ponytail behind her ear. "And?" she presses softly. 

"I think I'm in love with him," he admits. 

Anathema's eyes widen. "Oh."

He sighs and crumbles onto the wet sand, laying down on it and not minding as the dumb, useless clothing gets soaked. "And I've… never… been like this before."

"I get that," he says. 

"Like I've slept with other merfolk before, but I've never felt… giddy over someone."

Anathema blinks for a second. "I'll stop myself from asking the specifics of mer sex. Continue."

Crowley lets out a little laugh and nods. "He’s just like, really nice… he’s Black, and he’s got like, the prettiest hair ever, and I actually haven’t seen his tail very well but it’s… very colorful."

She hums. "What about your tail? What was it like?" She pauses for a second. “If you’re okay with telling me, of course.”

His heart pangs at the memory of his life in the sea. He misses his correct body so much, masculine and his tail and his gills and his scales all over… It makes his chest hurt with the need to sink deep into the water until he finds a way to get back, to get back to what he once was.

"It was an eel’s tail," he says after several seconds. “Long, black, kind of slimy.” He pauses. “I was called Crawly sometimes. Because they’re like the snakes here on Earth, I guess, no limbs or anything. I haven’t seen those yet, by the way.”

"Oh yeah, don’t worry, they’re not very fond of beaches," she nods. “Were you… an electric eel?”

"Oh god I wish I was!" he immediately exclaims, eyes lighting up at the memory of asking his dear mama why weren’t they like the eels from head to tail, zapping their predators. “That would’ve been so cool, wouldn’t it? But alas, I wasn’t.”

Anathema laughs a little and gets her bag onto her lap, looking through it before finding something— three round objects, all of them looking somehow misty in their interior. She rubs one with a yellowish hue, mumbling something under her breath before she hands it to him. "Rub it."

"What—"

"Rub it," she insists.

Crowley hums and rubs the round, small yellow thing, sparks immediately going through his fingers. They don’t hurt, somehow— he looks up at Anathema with wide eyes. "What— how do I—"

"Just get your mind to it." She pauses. “Wouldn’t recommend using it on the sea, though.”

"Yes, I know it will be a disaster," he says curtly, releasing the charge on a seashell nearby, it immediately gaining a charred quality. “That’s so cool!” he gasps out, floored with the sensation of having the ability he dreamt of as a kid. “Thank you so much!” He takes the yellowish pearl in his hand. “Can I keep it?”

Anathema snatches it right back. "It needs to be recharged by a witch, and I’m not going to do that twenty four-seven just for your childhood dream. Sorry, Crowley."

He pouts and fixes his hair, down to his shoulders, black and messy. "You’re so mean. Just for tonight, though?"

She chuckles a little and immediately recharges it before passing it off to him. They spend the night like that, passing the pearl from one hand to another, talking and electrifying anything that passes by their sight that isn’t in the water.

* * *

"Pepper," Crowley says when she hurries towards him when he’s talking to Aziraphale. The sun is setting, she should be going home soon, but the Them have never cared too much about what their parents think or order them, from the look of it. It still makes him want to tuck her into bed, though.

The girl fixes her big, prideful natural hair and her eyes widen at the sight of Aziraphale, most of his body still deep into the water, only his chest and up visible for her. She lets out a gasp. "Oh my god, there’s a-another merman?!" Aziraphale laughs with his perfect chuckle, all song, and Crowley wonders if he is part siren with how melodical it is.

"That’d be me, wouldn’t it?" he asks, cocking his head and turning towards him.

Crowley stammers. "Yeah." He turns to Pepper. “His name is Aziraphale.”

"Can I see his tail? Let me see his tail!"

Aziraphale immediately twists so his whole body can be seen, his back still to the water. His tail is on the shorter side, perhaps to match his rolls of fat on his round belly. The tail is beautiful— magnificent designs along it, blue and a reddish gold, lines that seem drawn on but are perfectly natural. Crayon-tone red and perfect circles and god, Crowley has seen it a bit before, but he can’t help but stare.

Pepper gasps in delight and kneels down, knees sinking into the wet sand, and she touches it, staring at it with a fascinated expression, mouth agape and her eyes glinting, her pupils blown wide. "It’s beautiful!" she exclaims, gleeful.

Aziraphale laughs a little. "Thanks. What’s your name, kid?"

"I’m Pepper," she says, still staring at his tail as she touches it again and again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you— won’t you like, get dry or whatever? You can get back into the water.”

Aziraphale seems to hesitate— the mere thought of him risking his well being for Pepper’s glee makes Crowley weak at the knees— before he goes back into the water, only his tail in. His rolls stay against the warm sand as he looks at Crowley, smiling. He smiles right back, eyes twinkling.

There’s silence that seems to stretch on forever but is so comfortable before Pepper exclaims— "Oh!" and then turns to Crowley with excitement all over her face. “You found your Prince Charming!” she says with all the certainty in the world, “I knew he’d be out there somewhere!”

Crowley stammers and he goes red, his face burning against the afternoon sun, and Aziraphale looks at him questioningly, a perfectly plucked brow raised.

"What is she talking about?" he asks gently.

He pales a little and grabs Pepper. "You should go," he tells her.

"But—"

"You should go," he insists.

Pepper rolls her eyes a little, clearly peeved, but she doesn’t protest. "Okay. Good luck with ‘ziraphale."

He bites his lip. "Thanks," he says. “I sure need it.” He stays quiet for a second before pressing his hands against the girl’s shoulders. “Now go, go.”

She turns around and speeds out of the beach and into her parents’ house, her footsteps clear against the sand along many, many others. As much as he aches for the sea, he’s glad that he’s at least there, next to it— if Idon had put him in one of those inland cities or towns he is sure he would’ve gone insane.

He turns back to Aziraphale and sits back down.

"What’s a Prince Charming?" he asks with the same hunger for knowledge of always, but he can’t let him know what it means. It’ll blow his cover for all its worth, it will have him know what he feels, which he has never, ever felt before—

"I don’t know," he lies.

Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice that he does.

* * *

"I checked my books down under," Aziraphale tells him, thick coils of hair dripping droplets into the sand, “and I found out what a Prince Charming is.”

Crowley’s eyes widen— the night is setting (Aziraphale had been very busy lately, he tells him), and he’s too tired from his job at Shadwell’s to even start making up excuses for what Pepper said. His mind swims with anxiety and he nods a little, staring at Aziraphale intently, his amber eyes burning into Aziraphale’s brown ones.

"I think it’s cute," he continues when Crowley stays pathetically silent. “I mean, the fact Pepper thinks we’re meant to be.” 

There’s an uncomfortable pause that seems to stretch on forever.

"I am the first merperson you saw ever since— everything, right, anyway?"

He nods, the knot in his throat making it impossible for him to even make up a dignified response. "Yeah."

He bites the inside of his cheek hard, hard enough he can taste blood. He doesn’t want to answer the implicit question, any question at all about what Pepper had said— the idea of Aziraphale knowing overwhelms him. The idea of Aziraphale feeling the same way terrifies him to an extent he doesn’t think there are human words for.

"Where did you find the term?" he asks.

Aziraphale raises his brows, makes a low hum, before he starts speaking about the fairytales and not-so-false tales he’s found in various sunken human ships, how he’s had to restore some of the words, how some of the words are lucky guesses rather than reconstructions. (A few days later, Crowley finds out one of the lucky guesses was wrong— the villain in the Little Mermaid wasn’t, in fact, a woman named Orsola.)

The question remains there, in between them, a sea of tension neither of them dares disturb.

* * *

"Hey boss, I need to talk to you," he says as he walks into the fish shop, the smell immediately seeping right into his nostrils. He makes a face and steps closer towards Shadwell’s office.

"What do ye want?" he asks gruffly, not taking his eyes off the book he’s reading. He wonders if he would be doing something else if he wasn’t bound to this town— maybe he’d be a cryptozoologist of sorts. A monster hunter. His wacky accent would probably get him a lot of attention from the media.

He draws in a breath. "I have noticed that you are, um, something of a lover of the occult."

Shadwell blinks. "Well, ah, I wouldn’t say so, laddie. More of a hater, of an obsession…"

"Well," he starts. “You believe in mermaids, by any chance? Merfolk?”

"Of course I believe in merfolk!" he says, offended at the mere notion that he wouldn’t, and a small smile can’t help but appear on Crowley’s lips. There’s another person who will know in about a minute or so.

"Well, can we go outside to discuss this?" he asks, giving an affectionate, sarcastic bow. “It’s important.”

Shadwell swallows and follows him to the beach. "Well, what is it?"

"I’m a merman," he tells him, the words fumbling out of his mouth without much of his consent.

He makes a face. "You did show up on the beach, your legs bleeding. I assume you were turned human? For some reason?"

He grimaces a little, immediately remembering exactly what that reason was. Ligur bleeding onto the seafloor, Hastur screaming for all he’s worth. He bites his lip.

"Yes, I was turned human."

"And why’s that, laddie? Seduced some harlot, some wumman—"

He lets out a forced laugh. "Ah, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong kind of merman."

"How so?" He tilts his head a little, and Crowley is filled to the brim with anxiety.

He is painfully aware of just how terrible about this most humans are, and he sees Shadwell’s face, torn with aging and with bitterness, and he might as well be one of those humans. There is a good chance that is the case, with the way he squints at him suspiciously, like he might be hiding something rotten.

He doesn’t understand why humans won’t catch that— won’t understand that. It’s like they openly refuse to. Merfolk have never thought like this, ever— does water and scales really change everything? Change the way love is perceived?

"Not really into women," he says— before Shadwell can say anything he changes the topic, “I have seen one fellow merman, he should be here soon.”

"I don’t want to see that fellow pansy of yours—" he sneers.

Before he can complain any further, Crowley grabs his arm and drags him towards the seashore. Shadwell makes a noise but lets him pull him to the sea, even with how much smaller Crowley is than him. After a minute or two he gets there and lets the water tickle the soles of his feet, sighing a little.

"Aziraphale?"

After a few seconds he pops out of the water, clinging to the shore and smiling before his smile disappears at the sight of Shadwell. "Crowley, who’s—"

"Ah, a human obsessed with our lot." He looks back at Shadwell. “He’s my boss too. Shadwell, this is Aziraphale, Aziraphale, this is Shadwell.”

Shadwell gives a nod before he says, "Well, were you two sodomizing each other before you got turned into a human or did it start just now?"

Crowley immediately knows what’s going on, even if he hasn’t heard that word before. He wants to be embarrassed over him assuming they’re seeing each other in any way that isn’t a strict friendship, but the use of what he can only assume it is makes him see red.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asks.

"We’re not—" he struggles for words, letting out a sigh of contempt. “You saw the merperson I wanted you to see. Now I’d like it if you left.”

“Oh?” Shadwell smiles a little, and he feels sick. “Why, laddie?”

"Because— I don’t want you to keep calling us pansies and faggots and the like. Please leave."

He can see Shadwell nearly arguing, nearly staying out of spite to keep calling them things, horrible things that he would’ve never been exposed to if he had just stayed as a merman. If he hadn’t fucked up so badly, if Ligur was still alive. He hadn’t meant to end up here, really— he had just made one simple mistake.

But Shadwell fights the spite, he turns and leaves.

"I’ll lower your pay!" he barks as he leaves.

Crowley immediately sinks onto the warm sand, his crossing his legs and sighing.

Aziraphale leans over and touches his cheek, a touch that makes his insides warm up more than the sun ever could warm his skin. Even sunburn (a new phenomenon for him— Anathema taught him how to use sunscreen and he loathes it) doesn’t compare to this.

"What was that, Crowley?" he asks.

"Well," he starts, pulling his hand away. “I—” He draws in a breath. He wants to say he hates humans, that he hates who they are (who he is, now), but Anathema and Newt aren’t anywhere near what Shadwell is. The Them aren’t anything like Shadwell. “Humans… aren’t like us. About love, I mean.”

"They don’t accept— all kinds of love?" he asks, still trying to reach him to touch his cheek.

He doesn’t let him.

"They don’t," he nods. “And, well, he thought that, um, we were… you know.”

Aziraphale doesn’t seem affected in the least by the insinuation. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, but it still makes his stomach hurt. "Just like Pepper did?"

Crowley forces a smile into his lips. "Yeah," he nods, voice just a little strained. “Just like Pepper did.”

* * *

"You’ve got to tell him sometime," Anathema tells him over two nice cups of tea.

"What?" Crowley exclaims, promptly spitting out the tea in his mouth.

Anathema raises a brow. "I said, you’ve got to tell him sometime."

"I really don’t have to," he shoots back. “I could keep all these feelings inside me for however long I want.”

"That’s the thing, though," she replies without missing a beat. “You don’t want to keep them inside you.”

"I just said I do!"

"I can spot a liar," she drawls, taking a long sip of her tea. “And I’m also not immensely stupid, Crowley. No one wants to keep their feelings bottled up forever.”

Crowley stays silent for several seconds, weighing the option of denial versus the ordeal of admitting just how much he wants to scream it to the seven seas. He wants to yell from the top of his lungs, that he adores Aziraphale, but he doesn’t know how genuine it is — he has never been like this before. He has never been so fixated on someone before, and it’s terrifying. He’s never cared so much before.

"Maybe I do," he replies.

Anathema sighs.

"You’re useless at this, Crowley."

"How did you get together with Newt, anyway?"

"Well, my ancestor Agnes told me I was meant to be with him but that’s neither here nor there."

He blinks. "You speak to your ancestors?"

She makes a face before waving a hand around. "Vaguely."

There’s comfortable silence for a few seconds, Crowley finishing up his tea. He still hasn’t gotten quite used to human food, especially because most of it comes from Newt’s less-than-skilled hand, but he’s dealing.

"By any chance, has she said anything about telling Newt you’re, well, a witch?"

She shakes her head. "No, and I still don’t know how he’d react, really."

He finishes his tea, takes a biscuit and downs it gratefully, humming. "Well, can’t knock it ‘til you try it." He pauses. “I’m using that human idiom correctly, right?”

She giggles a little and he sighs, knowing he didn’t. "Ah, it’s don’t knock it till you try it. And it means to, like, not criticize something before you try it. You were close, though. I won’t know until I tell him."

He nods. "I could help you— I can tell Aziraphale to stay for a bit. I doubt there’s something more convincing than a merman at the shore."

She smiles at him. "You haven’t quite seen the extent of Newt’s skepticism, but sure. Let’s try it out next weekend, shall we?"

"Of course."

* * *

"Mr. Crowley!" Adam exclaims, running up towards him, nearly tripping with his feet on the sand.

"Hey, Adam!" he says, walking up so he doesn’t have to run any more and he stops in his tracks, smiling up at Crowley brightly. “How are you doin’? How’s school?”

“Ugh,” he groans at the question, pouting and rolling his eyes. “School’s boring. They don’t even teach us about merfolk or witches or any of those things that exist! They’re not fake— my dad is dumb! My teachers are stupid!”

He laughs a little. He only vaguely remembers his school years, but they were a lot less rigorous than the ones humans go through, as far as he’s aware. Sign language classes, history classes, and some lessons about how humans have shaped the world overwater. 

"I understand," Crowley says, patting his back a little. “Where are your friends?”

"Oh, well, Pepper’s coming soon, Wensleydale is busy with homework and Brian is grounded because he was talking with strangers and eating sand."

He snorts a little. "Two very different wrongdoings," he mutters. “How are your parents?”

"They’re good." He kicks a pebble away, it sinking into the sea after a few seconds. “They’re always good.” He pauses for a few seconds, fiddling with his hands. “Pepper told me the woman living with Mr. Pulsifer’s a witch.”

"Ah," Crowley nods. He turns to Newt and Anathema’s comfortable cottage by the seashore, the windows letting the ridiculous amount of papers and interesting lack of technology be seen. He hesitates for a second before he remembers just how big of a skeptic Mr. Young is— and most of the people in the small beach town are, too, really— and he smiles a little when he turns back toward Adam. “She is.”

"She is?!" he exclaims with a wide grin.

"Mhm," he nods. “I can show you all her witchcraft stuff if you’d like.”

"She won’t try to kill me, right? Like witches cooking boys in their stews?"

He doesn’t even seem that worried about the possibility, but it still makes Crowley pull a face. Humans’ smear campaign against witches really makes him itch with the need to prove all of them wrong. He hasn’t even met many witches, but in history class they talked in length about how most witches are, in fact, pretty decent people with a tendency of seducing married men’s women— that’s where the smear campaign is believed to come from.

"Not at all, kid," he tells him. “Anathema— that’s her name— won’t try to kill you, I promise.”

He gives him a smile. "Okay! I’d love to meet her, then! I’ll bring Pepper along!"

Crowley smiles.

* * *

"Newt, dear," Anathema starts. Crowley gives her a thumbs up from the window. “I have something to tell you.”

Newt stammers and fiddles with the hem of his shirt, looking around nervously. "Well, what is it?" he asks, biting his lip and looking like he expects a tremendous secret that could ruin their relationship. (He’s a little right about that, but it’s not as bad a secret as he thinks it might be.)

"I’m a witch," she tells him. 

Newt opens his mouth, brows furrowing, but Anathema interrupts him, "And before I said that, you were thinking I was cheating on you or that I perhaps was going to break up with you."

He scoffs. "Lucky guess."

She resists rolling her eyes. "Bitch," she mumbles.

"Is this an early April Fools joke?"

Anathema scoffs and grabs his arm. He squeaks but lets her lead the way out of the house and into the calm beach, not a person in sight.

Crowley walks up to them. "I’m a merman," he tells Newt, who raises a brow as response. 

"This isn’t really all that funny," he deadpans.

Crowley groans and kneels next to the seashore, water lapping at his thighs. "Aziraphale," he says. “You can come out.”

Aziraphale’s head gets out of the water after a few seconds of silence, and Newt yelps in surprise at the sight. It’s clear that Aziraphale isn’t human, after all, even with his tail out of sight— his gills are visible on the side of his throat, and he’s got scales here and there over his shoulders and chest. It reminds him just how bare his body is, in comparison, all skin, nothing inhuman about it. He knows it’s the point of it all, but it still makes him ache inside out.

Newt kneels down and looks at Aziraphale and then at Crowley before falling back to his girlfriend. "You— I…"

"Yeah," Anathema nods, leaning down to peck him on the cheek. “Your skepticism is useless. We do exist.”

Newt swallows and looks back at Crowley. 

"That’s why you were at the shore naked," he says.

"Yes," he nods, trying to bite back the ‘you idiot’ that nearly slips out of his mouth.

Newt pulls his glasses back to their spot, them dangerously near dangling off the bridge of his nose. He looks at Crowley with a small smile, eyes gleaming. "You should tell me all about it."

"We can tell you," Aziraphale interrupts. 

"Both of us?"

Aziraphale looks at him and tilts his head. "Why not?"

That’s a good point. Why not.

* * *

It has been about four months ever since he’s been human, and it’s getting exhausting.

He aches for the sea, in a way he can’t even begin to name. The homesickness seeps into his bones, into his skin, makes him wish to be anywhere but on land. He wants to sink in and swim deeper and deeper, until he’s got nothing around him but the saltwater, the algae, the exhuberant fish. But swimming in this body feels all wrong, like something dirty and rotten, and he doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn’t want to risk it.

"Crowley," Aziraphale asks one afternoon, “Why haven’t you swum in this body yet?”

He stammers at the question. "Well," he says, picking his words carefully, “it just wouldn’t be the same, you know?”

"I don’t know why that should stop you," he says. “The fact it won’t be the same might dampen the experience, but it still might make you feel closer to who you once were.”

Crowley sighs and nods. He wants Aziraphale to be right, but who you once were makes his head hurt.

"Don’t… say that," he says.

"Don’t say what?"

"Who I once was," he says.

Aziraphale blinks. "Oh. But—"

"I know," he hisses out, “I know it’s technically correct. But it’s  _ not! _ I’m still a merperson, I’ve just been… displaced.”

Aziraphale stays silent for several seconds, expression blank before a small smile makes its way onto his lips. He’s just humoring him, obviously— he knows how stupid and irrational it sounds. Crowley’s non-existent scales itch along his lanky arms.

"Okay," he nods. “Closer to who you are, then.”

It makes him warm inside out, and he starts getting closer to the shore.

"I’ll help you," Aziraphale tells him. “I don’t think it can be that hard, right? Instead of a tail it’s two legs?”

"The legs aren’t made for swimming, though," he points out before he slowly starts to pull his body into the water, little by little. It’s cold, but he’s had it engulfing him before, he can deal with it. He draws in a breath and starts swimming, pretending that his legs are his tail, thick and black and slimy and that he can swim, and that he’s back underwater—

"You’re doing it!" Aziraphale exclaims, joyful, keeping a hand on his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t lose track of himself.

He laughs a little before he dives right into the sea, keeping his eyes peeled as much as his human eyes itch with the salt. He copes, and eventually he closes his eyes as he dives around, feeling for rock and algae, smiling a little. He’s back home— he’s back home, and it’s all more alright than it had ever been before.

He swims, barely moving but still, he swims. He’s back home, he can feel Beelzebub yelling at him because he’s, once again, been doing the wrong thing while in town. He opens his mouth and instead of his gills passing the water through without a bit of a problem, he gets water right into his lungs.

He’s forgotten he doesn’t have gills anymore. He gasps for air and more water gets in there, and he’s less and less conscious, Aziraphale grabbing him and signing furiously but he can’t quite see what it is. His head is spinning as he tries to breathe underwater, and—

He’s pulled up.

They’re both gasping for air. Crowley opens his eyes and pants like a wild animal, mouth agape as he coughs out water. Aziraphale is also gasping but his eyes are wide with worry, holding onto Crowley for all that is holy, nails digging into his shoulders, webbed fingers sticky against them.

Crowley coughs out water, more and more of it, until his lungs are devoid of it and only getting air, and he sobs. He sobs loud and broken, because oh god, he doesn’t have gills anymore, he’s not himself anymore— and Aziraphale holds onto him, hair by his throat, holding him tight as he cries. He cries too, bubbly, ugly sobs escaping his mouth.

After a few minutes of them just like that, several feet away from the shore, holding on and crying, Aziraphale swims back to the shore. He makes sure Crowley can’t get off him, webbed fingers keeping them together as he brings him to the shore. He puts him on the sand carefully, rubbing his shoulders as more sobs wrack through his thin body.

"I didn’t, um, I didn’t mean for you to almost drown," Aziraphale tells him as he presses his hands all over his body, his shirt and shorts sticking to it because of the water. There’s salt all over his legs and arms. “I’m sorry that happened, uh, I promise I’ll ma-make it up to you…” He lets out a little sob. “I’m sorry. Please say something, I’m— I’m really worried, Crowley.”

"It’s okay," Crowley breathes, pulling up to look at him.

He has never quite seen so much worry in a being before, alight with the need to take care of someone. And that someone is him— Aziraphale smiles just a little at the reassurance, his eyes gleaming with relief, and it hits him. Oh, he never should’ve shut up. He never should’ve quieted down the need to yell it out to the seven seas.

"I love you," he whispers, kissing Aziraphale madly. He freezes for a second against him, hands against his, but he responds after a second or two, kissing eagerly. Aziraphale’s mouth is warm and perfect against his own, eyes fluttering shut. As soon as he pulls away he smiles giddily and passes out on the warm sand, the whole world a little bit warmer.

* * *

"Mr. Crowley!"

He blinks and wakes up in a hospital bed, Pepper, Adam and Anathema looking at him. He grumbles and straightens up, blinking many times as he gets used to the blinding light of the room. He looks at Adam and smiles a little before giving Pepper and Anathema a nod.

"Hey Adam," he says, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He scowls a little, but doesn’t protest. “Did you three find me passed out on the beach?”

"After Aziraphale yelled for someone to help, yes," Pepper intercepts, smiling at him brightly. “He explained you kissed and immediately passed out! I think that’s something worth of a  _ movie— _ ”

Crowley makes a little noise, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Anathema elbows Pepper quite gently. "Shush, you’re embarrassing him!"

Pepper laughs. "It was cute!"

"Pepper," he whines, burying his face on his hands, stammering a little.

Adam smiles a little. "You hadn’t told me about him, but I think he’s a good catch. He probably knows a lot of games!"

Crowley lets out a small sigh, resisting the very natural urge to go on and on about Aziraphale. About his contagious little giggle, the way the sun hits his tight curls, the way he tells bad jokes and hasn’t grasped how some human idioms work quite yet. He’s beautiful, all smiles and his big nose scrunching up when he smiles from ear to ear, with all of his face. How good he looks, too, belly against the sand and his wide frame looking wonderful against the sunset.

"Crowley," Anathema says with a knowing look. “You can go on about Aziraphale. Neither of the kids is going to complain, except for the cooties jokes, perhaps.”

"I’m not a kid! I’m almost twelve!" Adam complains. 

Crowley laughs a little and turns to Pepper. "Well, you were right about how I found my Prince Charming," he tells her. “We went swimming— it was his idea… and I nearly drowned.”

"But you’re a mermaid!" Adam immediately exclaims. “How could’ve you drowned?”

He gives him a small smile. "Well, I forgot I don’t have gills anymore. “ Adam’s confusion doesn’t disappear. “They’re the things that let us breathe underwater. Fish have them too."

"Oh!"

"And, well, I nearly drowned and he was signing for me to get out and I didn’t see that and he grabbed me and then we kissed. And afterward I passed out. Like as soon as we got off each other, I passed out." His eyes widen. “Oh fuck, Aziraphale must be so worried—” He pulls at the IV in his arm. “I have to go see him!”

"No you don’t," Anathema intercepts, pushing him back into laying down. “He knows we took you to the hospital. Let’s just make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Crowley grumbles. "But I want to talk to him— I need to talk to him!"

"It can wait," Pepper says, grabbing his hand suddenly. He goes warm at the touch, and squeezes her hand. “You need to get better! I was worried about you, Mr. Crowley.”

He smiles, his heart aching in his chest. 

"I—" He clears his throat. “Thank you for finding me and taking me here, Pepper.” He turns to Anathema and Adam. “You too, Anathema, Adam.”

They all nod.

He’s skittish as the days pass, his need to kiss Aziraphale again driving him insane. The doctors are insanely slow while making sure there’s nothing more going on with him, taking scans of his lungs and asking over and over again about his gender. It drives him mad, because it doesn’t make any sense to him— he’s just a guy. He’s just in the wrong shitty human body.

As soon as he’s discharged Anathema follows him down to the beach. 

"Don’t get in the water again," she tells him with a serious edge to her voice.

He shakes his head. "I don’t plan to. I’ll be fine."

"You’re supposed to take a few medications." She hands him the prescription written in scrawly handwriting and he stops in his tracks to try and decipher the words one by one. He furrows his brows and sucks in a breath and Anathema turns around. “Can’t you read?”

He keeps staring at the paper as it somehow will magically make sense. "No, I can’t."

She smiles at him. "I’ll help you with that."

"I won’t need to read—"

"You will have to, eventually, if you’re going to stay out of the water."

He nods. That reminds him of the untouched topic of what really happened that fateful night, how he hasn’t told Aziraphale in the least about his issues with it, with the nightmares he has, with the crushing guilt.

He sighs, "Fine. Teach me to read."

"Alright!" she exclaims happily. “After you go see your lovebird, of course.”

"He’s not waiting for me—"

"He is."

He stays silent for several seconds. "Ah."

As soon as he processes it he walks up to the beach, sand covering his ankles but he doesn’t mind it, squeaking in happiness when he sees Aziraphale making shapes in the wet sand, eyes fixated on it. He looks detached— saddened.

"Aziraphale!" he exclaims.

Aziraphale looks up and he beams, putting both his hands on the sand to hold himself up.

Crowley speeds towards him and sits down in front, pulling him into a quick kiss and grinning from ear to ear. "Hey," he says.

He rubs his arm. "I was worried about you, dear," he says. He pauses and looks away, fiddling a little. “You meant it, right? Anathema insisted you did, but—”

Crowley grabs his face, scales making his hands feel weird, but it doesn’t matter— he pulls him closer and kisses him again. "You idiot," he groans. “Of course I fucking meant it.”

Aziraphale giggles a little and his eyes flutter shut as he kisses him again and again. His lips feel just right against his own, and God, he’s light on the air and he can’t help but smile wide as they keep kissing, getting a bit more heated as time goes on.

"I love you too," Aziraphale tells him, squeezing his hand. “So much. I hadn’t ever—”

"Felt like this?" he teases. Aziraphale pouts a little and he immediately takes it back. “Because… me too.”

He pulls him into another kiss, a grateful note in the back of his throat.

"Do you have your human job tomorrow?" he asks carefully.

Crowley doubts. He wants to call in sick just to spend the day with Aziraphale, but he’s already in not-so-good terms with Shadwell because of his inclinations and he doesn’t want to lose the job. It’s a small beach town, too, so it’s not like he can get another one that will let him in without any identifying human cards at the drop of a hat.

"I do," he says. “Why do you ask?”

"Oh, I just wanted to know when was the earliest you could come here."

Crowley blushes and looks away. "Well, I get off work at nine. You’ve got a functioning human clock down there, don’t you?"

"That I do." He kisses him again. “I’ll be here.”

"Okay. I’ll bring some human delicacies— have you ever heard of wine?"

Aziraphale laughs a little. "Of course I’ve heard of wine. I’d love to drink some with you."

He stands up, kisses Aziraphale’s cheek. "Okay. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow!" Aziraphale calls after him.

* * *

Crowley comes back to the shore with two cheap bottles of wine and a confident strut.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale calls as soon as he sees him, smiling from ear to ear, his scales shining against the evening sunlight. He looks stunning, of course he does, his tight curls shining against the sun. “You brought wine!”

He settles next to the water, kneeling before spreading his legs and getting comfortable on the wet sand. He opens both bottles and then hands Aziraphale one, taking a sip from his. "Cheers."

"Cheers?" he echoes, raising a brow.

He blinks at him before he laughs a little. "Oh! It’s a thing humans say when they’re drinking stuff together. You…" He clinks the bottles together. “Do that, and then say cheers. It’s like a celebration of being together at a place. Or something.”

"Ah." He clinks his bottle against Crowley’s. “Cheers.” He takes a sip.

The night falls as they keep drinking and talking— Aziraphale talks about Hastur’s business, making sure to not upset him whenever he says the guy’s name. He does know the story of why he was exiled, after all. It’s not news for him.

Crowley gets progressively drunker. He’s had his hands on human alcohol before, back in his body underwater, and it had barely affected him. Something or other about mer anatomy versus human anatomy, but it still means Aziraphale probably won’t be too affected by the bottle of wine. Meanwhile, he’s human now, and when he finishes the bottle he’s quite drunk.

"So!" he exclaims, hiccuping a little. “I’m fucking sad, dude.”

Aziraphale raises a brow. "About what?"

He stammers. "A-About what?" he exclaims. “About everything! I’m human! I shouldn’t be in this body in the first place— Hastur lied to everyone just so I would get exiled!”

"H-Hastur lied?"

"Of ‘ourse he did!" He throws his wine bottle into the sand, and it somehow doesn’t shatter. “You really fell for a guy you thought was a murderer? Where are your— hic— standards, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale scratches the back of his neck. "They’ve been worse. But— does that mean you didn’t kill Ligur?"

"Oh, hell, I did!" he says as he lays down on the sand, making shapes with his hands to the stars. “But it was a-an accident. I was arguing with him and we started fighting and I— I accidentally…” He coughs a little and straightens up, his head hurting at the memory.

"And you what, Crowley?" Aziraphale asks him carefully, holding his hand.

And he looks at him like there’s something worthy to look at. Like he isn’t a murderer, like he didn’t kill an acquaintance of his, like he wasn’t exiled, like he’s not human now. Like he deserves love, like he deserves Aziraphale’s love.

He hiccups a little, tears sliding down his cheeks as he keeps looking at Aziraphale.

"It’s okay," he tells him, webbed fingers leaning in and wiping his tears away.

"I slammed his head against the— against a rock," he sobs out. “I watched as he bled. I was so horrified, I was just desperate for Hastur to listen to me, how I didn’t mean to— to do that…”

"I’m so sorry," Aziraphale breathes, pulling him into a gentle kiss as he keeps wiping his tears away. “Did they not use the truth serums?”

"Dear," he says, a forced laugh escaping his mouth. “Hastur is a  _ duke _ . He’s royalty. No one would listen to— to a commoner like me over him.”

"They should," Aziraphale tells him. “I can get you a hearing, Crowley. I’ll get you to become a merman again. I promise you.”

The idea is ridiculous, but he humors it, even if just for a moment. Scales all over him again— being himself again. Webbed fingers again. Gills again. Everything that made him himself again. 

"Of course, dear," he tells him, pulling him into a quick kiss. “Try to.”

They stay silent for a few minutes, bottles of wine long since discarded. 

"Oh," Aziraphale says softly. “I could use that ah, potion of sorts that transfers memories.”

"So they see I’m not guilty— well, that it wasn’t intentional, rather?"

He smiles at him. "Yes." He kisses him. “You should go sleep. I’ll take your memories when I’m back.”

Crowley nods and stands up. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replies. “See you tomorrow.” And then he’s gone.

Crowley sleeps on the beach, not a care in the world, thinking about how maybe, maybe it will all be solved in a few days. How he might be a merman again in the near future.

* * *

"Mr. Crowley!" Adam exclaims as he plops down on the beach, smiling wide and toothy at him. “How are you?!”

"I’m good, kid," he replies, ruffling Adam’s hair a little. “I talked to Aziraphale. We’re boyfriends now.”

Adam sticks his tongue out. "Ew, gross! Grown-ups being in love is  _ sooo _ gross."

Crowley smiles at him and laughs fondly. "It is. But we’re in love, kid. Really in love. I hope it happens to you someday too."

"Well, I don’t really. I don’t see what all the fuss is about."

He laughs fondly as he keeps talking to the boy about work and love and everything in between, until he hears the tell-tale sound of a head pushed out of water. He turns around and there’s Aziraphale, smiling at him with a bowl in his hands.

"Aziraphale!" he exclaims, pulling him in for a kiss. “This is the, uh, potion, right?”

"Yeah," he nods. He turns to Adam. “Hi kid.”

"Hi, Mr. Aziraphale. What’s that potion for?"

"For Crowley’s memories," he explains. “it’ll help him to go back underwater in a while.”

"But I like him here!" Adam whines.

Crowley’s eyes widen and he turns to Aziraphale before looking back at Adam. He puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey kid, if I do make it underwater, I’ll come visit whenever I can."

Adam pouts a little. "You promise?"

"I promise." He turns back to Aziraphale. “So, do I just drink it?”

"Yes," he nods. “You’ll let out a liquid a few minutes after drinking it, which will be your memories in a liquid form. Adam, you might wanna go home.”

Adam nearly protests, his lips twitching, before he turns around and skips over to the town center. 

Crowley turns to Aziraphale. "So," he takes the bowl and starts taking small sips from it. He’s immediately overcome with nausea and he falls down on the sand, hiccuping a little as he rests there.

"Shh," Aziraphale tells him, rubbing his side. “It’s okay. dear. It’s okay. Just lay down.” 

Crowley hiccups more and finishes the bowl before laying it next to him. His head spins as various memories swim through his mind. His mother, may she rest in peace, cradling him and keeping him close to her chest. His first conversation with Ligur. His first conversation with one of his past flings, a nice merman named Freddie with a colorful tail that he surely knew how to move. Too many memories— 

He spits out a yellow-pinkish liquid into the bowl, more of it filling it before he’s done— he promptly passes out on the sand. Aziraphale smiles and closes the bowl, swimming back to their city.

* * *

"Crowley!"

He wakes up and blinks, seeing Adam next to him, pointing at the sea. And there’s Aziraphale— his breath hitches in his throat. No, his brain whispers. It can’t be, it can’t be, he must be dreaming. Because that flask can only mean one thing, it can only mean that, and it can’t be true, can it?

"Aziraphale," he whispers out, adoring, pulling him into a messy kiss. “Is— is that— is that what I think it is?”

"What is it?" Adam asks innocently, getting closer to them, feet in the water.

Crowley sucks in a breath, suddenly hyper-aware of just how much he enjoys Adam’s company. He’s never liked kids, not when he was underwater, but Adam understands. How being small in a big world feels, how being out of place feels. He’s not too sure how, or why, but Adam is a nice kid. And human kids are better than human adults.

"It is," Aziraphale tells him with a small smile, pressing another kiss to his temple. “You’ll be home.”

Crowley grabs the flask, looking at it in disbelief. It’s such an insignificant thing. almost obscured completely by his hands on it. The liquid inside it is clear, with silver here and there— it barely fills the flask.

Adam walks closer to them. "You’re gonna be a merman again?!" he asks, excitement making him tremble.

Like he knows how lonely he’s been. Before he saw Aziraphale, his existence as a human was nothing short of miserable. If the Them didn’t exist, he’s not too sure where he would be right now. Nowhere good, that’s for sure.

"Y-yeah," he says shakily before setting the flask down. He looks at Adam, then at Aziraphale and his lip trembles. “I have to think about it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen, brows raised. "You— you’ve got to think about it? But you’ve always wanted to be home, my dear—"

"I’ve got to think about it," he hisses out, his heart in his throat before he turns back to Adam, a pleading look on his face. “Adam, could you leave us alone now? Please?”

Adam nods and turns around, skipping over to his house.

He lets out a sigh. "I’m gonna go get some wine from Newt’s."

"Dear, could you please talk to me—"

Crowley straightens up, starting to walk to the small house by the beach. "When I’m drunk!" he yells back, desperate for something to take care of what’s going on in his brain. He never thought he’d be hesitating on this. 

"Anthony!" Aziraphale pleads.

"In a second!" he says as he heads to Newt’s.

He knocks on the door furiously until Newt opens the door, looking at him confusedly.

"What’s up, Crowley?" he asks.

"Give me your wine," he says. “I’ll explain later. Or I might not. My point is, can I have some alcohol? I’ll pay you later.” Or he might not, but that part is more subtext than anything else.

Newt is a pushover, so of course he doesn’t ask any more questions. He goes and hands him a bottle of wine.

"Thanks," he says before speeding off back to the beach.

"Anthony," Aziraphale pleads with him. “Why don’t you want to go back?”

Crowley downs a huge gulp of wine, coughing a little afterward. He stays silent and Aziraphale tries to coax the answers out of him. But he waits until the alcohol kicks in— well, he won’t have a way to avoid emotions when he’s back as a merman. If he does decide to be. 

"I’m just." He swallows. “I’m attached, I guess. To the kids.”

"Oh," Aziraphale says softly, pulling him into a kiss, full of wine and saltwater. “Anthony—”

"Shut up," he mutters against his lips. “I just… I want to be with them. Give hugs. Help them with their math homework. Something.” He clears his throat, tears hot at the roof of his mouth. Like burning sand. “But if I’m back to where I started, then I can— I can’t do all of that.”

"But you’ll be in your body again, love," Aziraphale points out gently.

"I know," he replies, a tear or two cascading down his cheeks. “It doesn’t make too much sense, does it? Sacrificing being comfortable in my body— for. For some kids I’ve only known for half a year or so.”

"If it makes sense to you, it makes sense to me," he tells him, pulling him into a kiss. “It’s your choice, dear.”

"You just handed me all I’ve wanted for the last half year in a silver platter," he tells him, shaking his head. “There’s no choice. I have to go back underwater. You went through all that trouble—”

"It wasn’t too much trouble," he says. “It’s never been too much trouble with you.”

A quiet sob bubbles up inside Crowley’s throat. "But—"

"Not to me." Aziraphale kisses him. “Not if it’s you.”

Crowley holds onto him almost desperately. "I’ll take it," he says. “I think. But I have to say all the, all the goodbyes— all that.”

"You’ll still be able to see them," he says. 

He nods. "But it won’t be quite the same, wouldn’t it?"

Aziraphale shuffles a little. "I suppose."

Crowley nods. "Yeah. I’ll take it tomorrow." He pockets the flask. “I love you.”

Aziraphale smiles at him. "I love you too, dear."

* * *

"Pepper," Crowley starts as soon as he sees her, at about five in the afternoon, well after class is over. He hasn’t gotten a good look at the town’s school, but it is very small as the town is. He’s not sure who the hell teaches in it, but he’s sure they’re under-qualified.

"Mr. Crowley!" she exclaims happily, leaning in to hug him. “What’s up?”

"Well, I have important news to share with you," he tells her as he walks up to the beach, to one of the precarious seats a few feet away from the shore. “Can we sit?”

"Of course!" she says, smiling at him and sitting down, sand coating her uniform skirt, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He guesses it’s happened to her many times before, almost a thing of living in a beach town at this point. With how his hands are coated in grains of sand, he guesses it’s correct.

He clears his throat. "Well," he starts. “I’m going back underwater soon,” he tells her.

Pepper’s eyes widen. "Really?!"

He takes the flask out of his pocket and hands it to her. She grabs it and stares at it with her mouth agape, turning it around on her hands. 

"I just have to take it and I’ll be back home."

Pepper hums happily and looks up at him once again. "You’re gonna visit us though, right?"

His breath gets stuck in his throat. He smiles at her, resisting the urge to wrap her in his arms.

"Of course, Pepper. I’ll visit as soon as I can."

She kicks her legs up in the air, grinning from ear to ear. She's cute, he notes, with how she smiles, her puffy curls dancing in the air of the beach, the smell of saltwater coming in waves. "Good!"

"Yeah," he nods, a nervous smile on his lips. He wants to say that yes, it really is good, that he's not terrified this will all blow up on his face. 

"You'll be you again. Aren't you excited?"

He picks at a loose thread in his shorts, face twisting. He doesn't know. "I am," he says.

"I'm sure everyone will be happy to see you," Pepper tells him, leaning in to hug him quick. "I have to go now, Mr. Crowley. I've got, ah, homework. They're talking about fish in school!"

He looks up and smiles at her ."If you need help with that, do tell."

She gives him a thumbs up. "Of course!"

* * *

"What if it's all a trap?" Crowley asks Aziraphale, half a bottle of wine in him, sadness creeping up on him. He's not used to getting drunk with such ease, he's not used to being able to tell everything he feels to anyone. Much less to someone who loves him so much.

Aziraphale shakes his head. "How could it be, dear?"

"They're going to send me back on land," he says bitterly. "Hastur's probably got it all figured out. He's going to— he's going to make it all a sick– a sick joke, to see how happy I'm in in the body I belong to before I get thrown right back here."

He leans forward to cup Crowley's cheek, pressing a kiss to it. "Shh. Crowley, believe me, I won't let them do that to you. I would never let them do that to you."

He shrivels up at that; he has to try really hard to stop himself from breaking into tears. "I know," he breathes. "I'm just… scared. I'm already used to this. To this body. What if it's not the same back down?"

"It'll be the same," he promises him. "It'll be all the same. You'll be just fine, dear. It'll all go alright."

He stares at the bottle of wine in his hands for several seconds, before letting it fall to the sand. He still hasn't paid Newt for the bottles he keeps letting him borrow, and now that he's about to go underwater once again, he doubts he ever will. Well, that's not his problem. He can hear Anathema's lecture later.

He grabs the flask with shaking hands. It doesn't look like a life-changing thing; it's just a flask, clear liquid with specks of silver calling for him to come back home. He can see the dirty looks from everyone, how he'll have to clear his name, how Hastur will make sure to make his life hell. Well, he's never gotten along great with the dukes. One more won't hurt.

"Okay," he says. "I'll take it."

"Get in the water first, love." 

He follows Aziraphale's command, pulling off his shirt and his shorts, leaving himself mostly nude. He sinks into the water, shuddering at how cold it is during the night. He swallows and sinks further down, remembering how their first kiss was after he nearly drowned, how he had forgotten he wasn't a merman anymore.

Now he will be. Now he'll be back home.

"Ready?" Aziraphale asks, pulling him into a quick kiss. He tastes like seaweed.

He rubs the pad of his thumb along the glass, pensive, before uncapping it. He takes a sip.

"Keep going," he encourages, a hand on his back, like he's afraid he's going to double over. "All of it, you have to drink all of it."

It tastes like his mother's meals, all of seaweed and coral, vegetarian as it could be. His face twists and pain engulfs him. He can't help but cry out, cling onto Aziraphale as his body wracks in and out of itself, wreaks havoc until not a part of it is recognizable.

Everything goes black as he comes back to his body.

Once he wakes up, the first thing he notices is his tail. A fat, slimy black thing, typical of an eel, swishing back and forth. The second thing he notices is his webbed fingers playing at Aziraphale's scaled back, breathing hard as he tries to locate himself in this plane of existence. Slowly, he sees the crystalline water, the bubbles, the greenery all over him. They're somewhere in a seabed, the moss against his back.

"You're awake," he says with a wide smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Ngk." He stretches and looks at his hands. They  _ are _ webbed, the webs a nice dark gray that matches his tail, scales all over his arms, his gills on both sides of his throat. "I'm— still in pain. Lots of it. This sucks even more than when I got turned into a human."

Aziraphale laughs softly, presses a kiss to his forehead. "Rest, then. I'll be here when you wake up."

He nods. "Mhm. Thank you, dear. You're a lifesaver."

"That I am," he says cheekily.

He laughs, drifting out of consciousness as Aziraphale's voice soothes him to sleep.

* * *

He wakes up somewhere else. 

It only takes him a few seconds to realize it's Aziraphale's place. There's books everywhere, encased and taken care of properly so they don't rot away in the water; there's paintings and all sorts of other human art. All the things that mark Aziraphale's obsession with humankind, the obsession that drove him to peek his head over the water and for them to find each other.

The thought makes him warm with love. He flops down on the bed, tail swishing back and forth as he clings onto the stone. He's not sure where Aziraphale is until he hears the chopping of coral and seaweed.

"You vegetarian too?" he calls out sleepily. 

"Yeah," he says, stepping closer to the stone bed. "I thought you weren't."

"Raised like that," he tells him. "Mum was vegetarian. I started eating fish 'n stuff after she died."

"Sorry for your loss," he says.

He sighs. "Ngk. It's okay, don't… worry about it." He pauses and looks up at him, eyes still bleary. "What's for dinner?"

"Fried coral, lemon juice on top." When Crowley stares at him, he blushes. "What? They stay pretty well underwater. Perfect condition, from what I've gathered."

He shakes his head. "No, it's good. It's just…" He swallows. "It's just cute. I'll eat it all, trust me."

"I don't doubt that. You must be starving."

Aziraphale's got that right. He is.

* * *

"Dear murderer!" Hastur greets him on the street.

Crowley whips his head around, clenching his jaw. There aren't many merfolk around, nowhere near enough to cause an altercation or to shame him for his mistake. Every day he regrets it, every day he wishes he could go back in time and not kill Ligur. But Hastur is determined to make him remember.

"I see your little boyfriend managed to fool Idon."

"He didn't fool anyone, Hastur," he says, swishing his tail, biting the inside of his cheek. "I didn't mean to kill him. Idon recognized that. Your damn fantasy of kicking me out only worked out for half a year."

Hastur grumbles and swims closer to him. His eyes have always scared him, Crowley's not gonna lie about that— they're lifeless. He's one of the few merfolk with tails and characteristics of those deep-sea fish, angler fish, if his mind provides correctly. The little lantern on his head only cements that.

"You murdered Ligur. You should be exiled until the end of your days, in a human woman's body!"

"I  _ didn't mean to kill him _ !" he exclaims, the implication of being stuck in that body again making his skin crawl. "I'm sorry about your loss, I really am, but this vindictive shit will go nowhere! Let me live, I feel guilty enough as it is!"

Hastur grabs him, webbed fingers working at his throat.

His eyes widen and he slams his tail against Hastur's side, growling as he tries to get off him, get away from him desperately. He can't die like this, being choked out, his gills pressed against until he doesn't get any oxygen— he just got back, he just got back…

"Get away from him!"

Hastur's work at choking him out falters for a second, black eyes wide when he sees Aziraphale swimming towards him, pushing him off Crowley, his whole body shaking with anger.

"Leave Crowley— leave Crowley alone," he hisses out as he pins him down against a building, his face reddish with anger, cheeks puffed up. 

Hastur's eyes flicker with annoyance and a little bit of fear. "Why should I? He killed my partner, you know."

"He didn't mean to," he grunts, hands pressed right against Hastur's shoulders. "He didn't mean to. He has nightmares about this, he's regretted it every single day since it happened— you need to let him rest." His face softens a little, his expression dampening. "You need to let Ligur rest."

Crowley scratches at his gills, at how they've been pressed on to not let him get any air. He's a little lightheaded as he listens in on the conversation, his heart pounding against his chest, threatening to let everything spill out from it. But he doesn't, staring as Aziraphale  _ saves _ him.

"He killed him," Hastur argues, the light flickering on and off. "How am I supposed to let my partner rest without any  _ punishment _ for his killer?"

"He had his punishment," Aziraphale argues, out of breath, "he's suffered enough in those six months. Let Ligur rest. Let my Anthony rest."

Hastur grunts. "Get off me, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale hesitates, but he does as told, pulling his hands away from him. Crowley stares for a few seconds, waiting for Hastur to swim right back at him, choke him out once again. Instead, he just gives him a warning glare, face twisted in distaste.

"We'll see each other again," is all Hastur says before leaving the scene.

Crowley stares as he swims out. Before he can even really process what happened, Aziraphale is at him, coddling him, pressing a kiss to his ear. 

"Are you okay?" he asks.

He blinks. "I'd guess so." He swallows. "Could we go back to your place?"

Aziraphale kisses him on the lips quick. "Anthony, you can't hole up there forever."

"I can," he replies. "Look, I just— I just. Everyone looks at me like I'm dirty."

"Well, I won't." He leans in and holds his hand. "Look, I know I'm one person, but I'll defend you. I'll take care of you."

"Okay," he agrees shakily, burying his face on the crook of Aziraphale's neck. "Okay."

* * *

"I want to see them again," Crowley tells Aziraphale as he peppers kisses across his face.

It's a lazy morning, like all the ones they've had before this one. Aziraphale is curled around him on their stone bed, the moss warming them up. It's far too comfortable, and he'd stay here for the rest of his days if he could.

"Then we should," Aziraphale agrees. “It’s hard, I suppose— you’ve got all the, ah, connections from above water. It must be hard.”

"A little."

Crowley takes a few minutes, but he wriggles his way out of Aziraphale's hold and gets ready to go out back at the beach. He thinks of the kids, of how they all must miss him. At least, he hopes they miss him. The thought of them not doing so makes his heart sink in his chest.

"I'm sure Anathema will be happy to see you," Aziraphale tells him as he grabs his hand. He presses a kiss to his knuckles, rubs at the webs between his fingers. "Adam and Pepper, too."

He swallows. "Yeah. I hope so."

Before leaving Aziraphale's place, Crowley goes and looks over his collection of books. There's one titled  _ The Little Mermaid, _ the so-called myth of merfolk getting into the page, an old fairytale. Perhaps he fits better the Prince Charming, being on land for a while and whatnot, but he knows Aziraphale is the one that swept him off his feet.

"Ready to go?" Aziraphale asks, interrupting him as he looks over the pages.

He snaps his head up. "Yeah." He pulls him in for a kiss. "I'm ready."

They swim upwards, until they push their heads above. Crowley pulls him into a kiss as he swims towards the shore, looking around to his old town. It’s a different life, a life he didn’t like too much, but some humans truly are worth fighting for. Those kids, especially— and that witch and her boyfriend.

"Crowley?"

He snaps his head up and around to see Anathema, smiling at him with a basket in her hands. She immediately rushes towards him, kneeling to kiss his cheek. 

"Gosh, it’s been a while, Crowley! How have you been?"

Crowley smiles wide. "I’ve been better than ever. How are the Them doing?"

"Oh, they’re great!" she exclaims. “Adam should be coming over here any time now. He’s been going over here with hopes of you coming up.”

Crowley's face twists with guilt. "Agh, I’ve probably ruined his day so many times by not coming up—"

Aziraphale interrupts him, "He’ll deal, Crowley, he’s like, twelve. He’ll be fine with you not appearing for a few days."

"Mr. Crowley!"

"Adam!" Crowley exclaims, smiling at him as he hugs him tight, hugging back just as tight if not more.

Adam laughs, bright and loud and so  _ happy _ , before he starts talking about school.

For what seems like forever, it’s all perfect between two mermen, a witch and a human boy. He can worry about what's going on underwater later, about Hastur and Idon and all the dirty stares he gets.

Aziraphale squeezes his hand as he looks at Adam. "Care to call your friends over here too, Adam?"

Adam's eyes light up. "Of course not! I'll go get them!"

While he leaves to get the rest of the Them, Aziraphale pulls Crowley into a quick kiss. He can't help but smile, the world seeming like it'll stay still for them forever.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed it!
> 
> my writing tumblr is [smallredb0y](https://smallredb0y.tumblr.com/), come talk to me! :0)


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